


In Dreams You Will Lose Your Heartaches

by adventurepants



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-23
Updated: 2011-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-26 11:41:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adventurepants/pseuds/adventurepants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ella hadn't fallen apart or cried or begged her to stay. She had only clasped Snow's hands with tears in her eyes, kissed her cheek, and told her, “I know you'll be very brave.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Dreams You Will Lose Your Heartaches

It's a lovely, large home- it obviously belongs to a wealthy family. Snow is in a pinch and only needs to steal a bit of food, maybe not even enough that they'd notice. She's good at this by now, moving quickly and silently with her goal in mind and her exit strategy planned, but the kitchen isn't empty like it should be at this time of night, and Snow freezes, heart in her throat.

It's a servant girl, maybe fifteen years old, dirty-faced and dressed in rags. Snow is ready for her to scream, ready to run, but the girl only pleads with her quietly. “Please don't take anything. If they notice something missing they'll think I did it, and-”

Snow takes a step forward and the girl scrambles back. “Hey, it's all right,” Snow says. “I'm sorry I scared you.” She shouldn't stick around—she should find somewhere else to steal from and keep moving, but something makes her stay right where she is. “What's your name? I'm Snow.”

“Ella,” says the girl, glancing nervously over her shoulder, but Snow's hearing is sharp and no one is coming. Ella is pale and underfed, but her face is pretty under the smudges of dirt, and her blonde hair might be soft and shiny if it were clean. Her sack-like dress is torn at the shoulder, and Snow can see a dark bruise on her white skin.

“What happened?” Snow asks, nodding at the bruise.

“It's nothing,” Ella says and shakes her head, pulling at the fabric to try and cover it. “It was my fault. I—I bumped into something.” She's a bad liar, but Snow doesn't press her about it.

“What are you doing awake at this hour?”

Ella picks up a broom that's leaning against the wall next to her. “My stepmother told me to sweep all the floors again before I went to bed. If I don't do it, she'll know, and she'll... she'll be angry.” Ella tugs at her torn sleeve again, looking down at the floor.

“This is your stepmother's house?”

“It was my father's. He died.”

“And she's made you her slave?” Something familiar and angry burns in the pit of Snow's stomach, remembering the home she'd left, a vengeful queen, a huntsman on her trail.

Ella nods, clutching her broom. Snow is half-ready to leave this house and take Ella with her, but she knows it's a foolish thought. It's hard enough just taking care of herself, and she shouldn't add kidnapper to her list of crimes. So she takes the broom from Ella's hands and tells her, “Get some rest. I'll finish in here.”

*

They aren't always awful, the months that follow after the queen tells them of her curse. There are joyful days among those laid heavy with dread, and Snow hasn't become quite cynical enough that her worries go entirely uninterrupted. When she holds Alexandra in her lap, this innocent, happy baby, she can almost forget that there's anything wrong at all. Can almost forget that soon, she'll be leaving all of this, everyone she knows and everything that's dear to her.

She'll make it on her own, she knows. She's always been good at that. But twenty eight years is a long time, and it's hard to think of how she might forget the sound of James's voice or the sweet curve of Ella's smile. Emma kicks her, hard—she's feisty already—and she must remember again that her daughter will not grow up alongside her best friend's. There is a hollow, lonely look in Ella's eyes lately that reminds Snow more and more of the girl she'd met years ago, broken and resigned. But she's been strong for her daughter, strong like Snow taught her to be, and motherhood comes naturally to her.

She told Ella about the prophecy, after a good deal of procrastination. Ella's lost so much already, and Snow could hardly bear to add herself to the list, but Ella hadn't fallen apart or cried or begged her to stay. She had only clasped Snow's hands with tears in her eyes, kissed her cheek, and told her, “I know you'll be very brave.”

Alexandra gurgles and Snow smiles. “Yes, little one,” she says. “Everything's going to be all right.”

“She likes you,” Ella says, sitting down next to them.

“Of course she does.” Snow leans in close to the baby's face and kisses her forehead. “She knows her Aunt Snow.”

Ella is quiet for a moment. “Twenty eight years,” she says finally. “What will I do without you for so long?”

“You and James will take care of each other,” Snow answers, thinking fleetingly of the girls she'd grown up with, who would never dare leave their friends alone with the young men they courted. She feels sorry for them, not having what she and James have. What she and Ella have. “You will keep looking for Thomas, and you will find him. And you will raise this beautiful child.”

Only half satisfied, Ella asks, “Then what will you do without me?”

Snow stands and carries Alexandra to her crib, lowering the drowsy baby down in order to hide her face as she speaks. “I'm afraid I might be very lonely, sometimes.”

Ella moves to stand beside her, and takes her hand. “Tell Emma about us,” she says. “We'll be with you, as long as you keep us in your heart.”

*

Mary Margaret knows Ashley, but doesn't _know_ her, in the way that everyone in Storybrooke knows everyone else's business. She knows that Ashley is 19 years old, that her boyfriend left her when she told him she was pregnant, and that she has no family to speak of—only a stepmother and stepsisters with whom she's cut ties. Mary Margaret bumps into her one day on the sidewalk while she's got her head down, digging around for her phone in her purse.

“Oh, I'm sorry!” Mary Margaret says, placing her hand on Ashley's arm to steady her.

“It's all right,” Ashley says, and when their eyes meet, Mary Margaret is struck with the strangest feeling, like she's looking at an old friend she hasn't seen in years. Like Ashley is important to her, like she's as good as family.

That's silly, though. They've met briefly before, know each other's names, know some of the same people, but that's it.

Still, she feels a little pang as Ashley goes on her way, as if she's remembering something she lost. She tells herself to shake it off as she keeps walking, but it hurts the whole way home.


End file.
